Rose Mather: A tale

by Mary Jane Holmes

“I thank you, Mr. Carleton, for your sympathy. It has made me believe you are my friend, and as such I would rather consider you.”

“Your friend! Did you ever deem me other than that?” Jimmie replied in some surprise, involuntarily pressing the little hand which only for an instant rested in his, and then was quietly withdrawn just as Rose from the foot of the stairs called out to know “what they were doing up there so long.”

It was strange how differently Jimmie felt after this incident, and how fast his spirits rose. The few words said to him by Annie up in his sister’s cupola had made him very happy, for he felt that a better understanding existed between himself and Annie, that she did not so thoroughly despise him as he had at first supposed, and that the winning her respect was not a hopeless task.

As early as two the crowd began to gather in the streets, and half an hour later Rose’s carriage, with Jimmie in it, was on its way to the depot. Mrs. Carleton did not care to go, and so Rose, too, remained at home, and mounting to the cupola, watched for the first wreath of smoke which should herald the approach of the train.

“I see it,—he’s coming!” she screamed, as a feathery mist was discernible over the distant plains, and in a few moments more the cars swept round the curve, while a booming gun told that Bill Baker was faithful to his duty.

There was a swaying to and fro of the throng at the depot, a pushing each other aside, a trilling of fife, a beating of drums, and then a deafening shout went up as Tom Carleton and John Simms appeared upon the platform, carefully supporting the tottering steps of the weak, excited boy, who stood between them. At sight of Isaac, there was a momentary hush, and then, with a shriek such as a tigress might give when it saw its young in danger, the Widow Simms rushed frantically forward, and catching the light form of her child in her arms, tried to bear him through the crowd, but her strength was insufficient, and she would have fallen had not Jimmie relieved her of her burden, which he sustained with one hand, while the other was extended to welcome the stranger who came near.

Half bewildered, Tom looked around upon the multitude, asking in a whisper what it meant. He could not think they had come to welcome him, and when assured by Jimmie that such was the fact, his lip quivered for an instant, and his tongue refused its office. Then, in a few well-chosen words, he thanked the people for the undeserved surprise, so far as he was himself concerned. Isaac was more worthy of such welcome, he said, and more than half of it was meant, he knew, for their townsman, who had shown himself equally brave in camp, in battle, and in prison, while, had they known that Lieutenant Simms, too, was coming, he was sure they would not have thought of him a stranger to them all.

The brief speech ended, and Rose, listening at home, clapped her hands in ecstasy as she heard the terrific cheers and caught the name of “Carleton” mingled with “Isaac Simms.”

“Poor boy!” she said, “I wonder how he’ll get home? I wish I had told Jimmie to drive that way, and take him in the carriage.”

She need have given herself no uneasiness, for what she had forgotten was remembered by Jimmie, who, after a hurried consultation with Tom, insisted that both Isaac and his mother should take seats in the carriage, while he and Tom mingled with the crowd.